A Series of Steps
by Larael
Summary: The prequel to the Norribeth love story in "A Series of Firsts". James and Elizabeth's relationship before their marriage. Can be read in either order. A LOT more Willabeth. Elizabeth's POV for a change. Please read and review! No flames allowed.
1. Steps Toward a New Life

**Authoress' Note: **Ok, so this is my stab at the prequel to the James and Lizzy love story that we all love. I figured that if I didn't write it someone else was going to, so I might as well jump on the chance. Please let me know how you feel about the POV, voice, etc. And by the way, I've just noticed that I managed to name James & Elizabeth's child from ASOF Charlotte, the very same name as Governor Swann's house servant from one of the previous chapters. I hope that doesn't weird any of you out. :P It certainly strikes me as funny.

**Steps Toward a New Life**

I sit on the edge of my four-poster devoid of its lace linens swinging my legs against the cherry wood of the bed frame. Charlotte sits on the floor, legs tucked neatly beneath her, packing frocks, petticoats, and stockings into a traveling bag. She glances up at me for the fourth time, swiping at a stray strand of hair swinging in front of her eyes. I stare back almost defiantly as though daring her to ask me to help pack for a voyage that I do not want to make. She sighs and sets back to work.

We, that is to say, Papa and I, are being sent to Jamaica. I refuse to believe that my father would willingly volunteer for such a thing. Surely he would not force his only daughter to give up the only home and friends she has ever known to go live in a jungle. At least that's what I thought. But here we are, packing up the house and leaving everything we know behind, leaving Mama behind . . .

I may be 12 years old, but I am not daft. This move has something to do with Mama, even if it is a small reason. Papa has never quite been the same since she died, although I do not remember her or how Papa was before. I've only got what I've heard from Charlotte, and she tells me everything.

Charlotte stands up and brushes off her hands on her skirts. "Now then, have you said good-bye to your friends?" she asks with a false smile.

"Yes," I lie, nodding glumly. In truth, I don't really want to see them, because all I'll get is sympathy. It's not as though I'll ever see them again anyway.

The young woman smiles sadly, picks up the travel bag and leaves the room. I look about me then, wondering if my room at the governor's mansion in Port Royal will be just as big. I wonder if there is a school there, and if there will be girls my age whom I may play with. Somehow I can't imagine these things in a jungle.

Hard and fast footsteps in the corridor approach, and I stand up quickly as the door opens slowly. The pale face of a girl with pink cheeks peeks around the corner. I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Oh, Georgia, it's you," I say, and she steps into the room with a shy smile.

"I couldn't let you leave without saying good-bye, Elizabeth," the blonde girl says, her blues eyes wide at the thought, "You're the very best friend I've ever had."

I smile, and reach for both of her hands. "And you're the very best friend I've ever had as well," I say.

Georgia's smooth brow suddenly furrows. "Jamaica isn't terribly far away, is it? Perhaps I could still visit you."

I shake my head. "I don't know, Georgie. Father showed me a map, and it's across a huge ocean. It may take us months to get there."

Georgia nods, and she sniffs a bit to keep the tears from coming, though a few leak out anyway and roll down her cheeks. I hug her hard then, feeling the wetness of her cheek as I press it against mine. Closing my eyes I try to memorise as quickly as I can her pale skin, shining blue eyes, and curly blonde hair.

There's a knock on the door, and we jump back quickly. Georgia takes out a linen handkerchief and wipes at her eyes as Charlotte sticks her head around the door. She looks slightly surprised at the sight of us.

"The carriage is ready, Miss," she says, "I'll need to be locking up, so don't be too many minutes longer with Miss Ashworth."

I nod, and Charlotte steps out again shutting the door lightly behind her. Tucking the handkerchief away, Georgia reaches into the pocket of her frock and pulls out a golden chain with a small circular pendant dangling from it. I take it in my hand and run a finger over it to make it shine in the dull light.

"It's a locket!" Georgia cries, taking the trinket from me and prying it open with two hands. Inside is a lock of her white blonde hair. I take it from her; snap it shut, and pull it over my head so that it rests directly over my heart.

"I'm going to miss you," I say and give my friend another hug. Charlotte raps on the door again more urgently. I squeeze Georgia's hand one more time. "I've got to go. Good-bye!"

I rush from the room, leaving poor Georgia Ashworth standing all alone. I do not believe I will ever see her again.

---

"Elizabeth, where have you been?"

I look down at my feet, which are hidden by my numerous skirts. "I was saying good-bye to Georgia," I whisper, keeping my eyes on the ground.

"Ah."

Papa's tone softens, and he lifts my chin with one finger. I smile tentatively, and he smiles back.

"That's all right. I understand how hard this is for you, leaving your friends behind," he says this as he takes my hand and helps me up into the carriage. "But I promise you that there will be plenty of new people to meet in Port Royal. You'll make all sorts of new friends soon enough."

I find this hard to believe but do not say so aloud. Instead I purse my lips and stare out the window, waiting for us to begin our bumpy ride down to the docks. The door remains open however and several minutes pass.

"Papa, what are we waiting for?"

Father sticks his head out the open door. "Ah, here he is now," he says, and turns to me again, "There's someone I would very much like you to meet."

Someone is getting into the carriage. It is a young man, perhaps just turned 20, in naval uniform. He takes off his hat, revealing a brown tied back wig underneath and sets it on his lap as he sits down opposite me. The door shuts then, and the carriage jerks as we move forward.

"Elizabeth," Papa says, "I would like you to meet Lieutenant James Norrington. He will be accompanying us on our voyage, and he's been a very good friend of mine."

James Norrington smiles at me and sticks out his hand in a most forward fashion. I place my much smaller hand in his and shake modestly.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Elizabeth," he says kindly, as I slide my hand out of his grasp.

I nod my head, and place my hands neatly in my lap. Papa smiles approvingly, but I can only think of one thing: James Norrington is decidedly the most handsome man I have met in my very short 12 years of life.

**Authoress' Note:** I need feedback! Free cookies and love and hugs to everyone who gives it. Thanks for the time you give for writing reviews; it means the world to me.


	2. Wobbling Steps Across a Deck

**Authoress' Note:** Not too many reviews for the first chapter. I'm surprised. Anyway, I hope someone is reading this. I did write it to appease some of my readers after all. Anyway, enough of my moping, please review when you're finished reading!

**Wobbling Steps Across a Deck**

The ship rolls slightly, and I vomit into the bucket Charlotte holds in front of me while somehow managing to hold my sweat-dampened hair out of my face. We have been at sea for a week, and the worst of the seasickness has set in. Father and Charlotte seem to be immune to the crashing of the waves against the ship and the rocking those waves set about. I shudder and with a groan of despair fall backward onto the rumpled bed.

My stomach feels as though it is being wrung out with each gag. Papa said it would stop within a few days, and it has been a few days. Actually, they have been some of the longest of my life. I have confined myself to the small space Charlotte and I have been provided, although I am told it is the best that this ship can offer, I find it hard to believe. More than once we have had to contend with rats in the dark.

The ship pitches again, and I sit up quickly, my stomach heaving. I give a dry sob and lay back down again readying myself for another assault. Suddenly there is a knock on the door. Charlotte glances at me, perhaps wondering whether I am presentable enough to see visitors but proceeds to open the door a crack anyway.

James Norrington stands outside, wringing his hat in his hands, and shifting his weight from foot to foot. He smiles at the sight of Charlotte, and she blushes. I close my eyes and pull the covers up to my chin before they can notice I've been watching.

"I came to inquire about the invalid," I hear him say, "I hear she's taking things rather rough."

"Aye, well I think if she had a spot of tea she'd be considerably better," comes Charlotte's quiet voice.

I crack open one eye to see the young lieutenant watching me from between Charlotte's head and the doorframe. He winks once, and my eyes pop open. No gentleman has ever winked at me before! I continue to stare as James finishes his conversation with Charlotte before the door is shut once again.

The young woman sits down next to me and puts a hand to my forehead.

"I've asked Lieutenant Norrington to bring some tea for you since he seems so eager to help. Do you think that would ease your sickness a bit?"

I nod, studying Charlotte's features, and the way her eyes brighten as she speaks about Lieutenant James Norrington. My sickness nearly forgotten, I become bold and ask, "Do you like him?"

Charlotte's cheeks turn every shade of crimson as she searches about her for the stitching she had been completing. Taking it into her lap again she sets me with a stern gaze.

"Whatever would make you say such a thing, Miss Elizabeth?" she asks, and tries to laugh, though it sounds dry and hollow, "Lieutenant Norrington and I. Now that's a thought. You should keep such things to yourself, Miss. It isn't proper to speak of matters like that aloud."

I open my mouth to retort, and several things happen at once. The ship rolls, causing my stomach to flip flop and me to gag. Charlotte reaches for the bucket and makes it just in time as James Norrington opens the door. He waits patiently, completely unfazed, as I vomit once again, which is surely my comeuppance for thinking of talking back to Charlotte only moments earlier.

When my gagging has died down, and I am finally able to gulp down a few breathes of much needed air James offers forth the cup of tea to soothe my burning throat. Charlotte takes it and attempts to hold it to my lips to help me drink. Seeing that the lieutenant is still in the room, I snatch the cup from her grasp and sip at it as best I can. I will not be seen as being babied in front of such a man no matter how little we know of him.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" James asks, watching me with furrowed brows.

Charlotte stands up, brushing her hands down the front of her skirt. "No, thank you. You've done so much already." She smiles at him, and I roll my eyes at her from behind the lieutenant's back.

James turns to me, and smiles. "All right then. If you need anything at all please don't hesitate to ask. I hope you'll be able to join us upon the deck soon enough, Miss Elizabeth. The fresh sea air would do you some good as well as bring back the colour in your cheeks."

I nod and continue to stare as Charlotte ushers him to the open door before shutting it behind him. As she steps back inside a blush still remains on her cheeks and a small smile upon her lips.

"You do like him!" I cry triumphantly as I wriggle out of her reach.

---

Life on the deck is more exciting than I could have dreamed. Everything about it, the sailors clambering up the rigging, the shouts of orders, and the smell of the sea, is a mess, and I love it. The day has been eerily quiet however, and I am beginning to wonder why. After hearing Lieutenant Norrington speak to one of his fellow shipmates I begin to understand that perhaps it is the weather. Fog has crept in from all sides, and I can hardly see as far out over the water as I usually can.

Suddenly, something catches my attention. It rises and falls upon the waves still perfectly upright. I squint at it and cock my head to the side, scrutinizing its daintiness and perfection. There is no logical way such a thing could survive on the water for so long. I follow the parasol with my eyes for a few minutes before something else entirely comes into my line of vision.

"Look! Look! There's a boy on the water!" I cry, pointing to the piece of wood on which a young boy is slumped facedown. I watch in anxious despair as his thin body is hauled aboard and laid out for all to see. He is eerily still, and I step back into the protective stance of Lieutenant Norrington standing behind me. Suddenly the boy coughs, and seawater splutters down his front.

Curiously, I step toward his body, which is still again, though I can now see his chest rise and fall reassuringly with each breath. His brown eyes meet mine as I come into his range of vision, and he stares up at me with wide eyes.

"It's okay," I whisper, "My name's Elizabeth Swann."

The young boy opens his mouth and takes in a shuddering breath before replying in a trembling voice, "W-Will Turner." His head falls back then in a faint, and suddenly a shadow falls over me. I turn to look at James Norrington whose brows are drawn together in an almost comical way.

"Has he said anything?" he asks.

I nod my head, "His name is William Turner. That's all I found out."

The lieutenant nods, and then turns to a pair of sailors standing nearby, "Take him below."

I stare as the young boy with the brown hair and the frightened eyes is hauled away, and think that perhaps I have found someone to rival Lieutenant James Norrington in the way of handsomeness.


	3. Step Number One: Settling In

**Authoress' Note: **I love French. Have I ever told you that? The English are typically rivals with the French, but I love them. Hence, the reasoning behind the first part of this vignette. The rest is just silly filler. :P Enjoy! Don't forget to review!

**Step Number One: Settling In**

"Mademoiselle Swann, what did I just ask?"

I shake my head and tear my eyes away from the ships coming into the harbour through the bay windows of Papa's study. My tutor, Monsieur Renoir, raps the table with his pointer for emphasis. I look down at the parchment in front of me on which French verbs have been scrawled in his illegible hand. Monsieur _tsks_ loudly.

"You must keep your mind on your studies, Mademoiselle and out of the clouds. Is that clear?"

"_Oui, Monsieur_," I say and wait for him to repeat the question.

"All right then, this is the last time I shall repeat myself. When you have answered you are free to go for today."

Monsieur Renoir says each word distinctly as he wrinkles his nose slightly. Apparently my presence, or rather, the fact that he has been forced to teach me is highly disturbing to his well-being. He has made that very clear from the beginning of my tutoring sessions.

"Please repeat to me the forms of the verb _être sur le present, le futur, le conditionnel, et le subjonctif._"

I sigh. It's going to be a long session.

"_Le present: je suis, tu es, il est, nous sommes . . ._"

---

I bound down the stairs, excited at the prospect of finally being able to meet with Will. It seems as though I have been cooped up inside studying for hours, and I have missed the dear lad who has become the one friend of my age in Port Royal. Papa is in the library with the door open, and he glances up as I race by.

"Elizabeth, slow down!" he calls, and I skid to a halt before walking slowly back to his open door.

"Hello, Papa!" I say cheerfully and kiss him on his cheek.

He looks at me with a twinkle in his eye and chuckles to himself. "What has gotten into you today?" he asks, "I haven't seen you so happy in a long while."

"I'm off to go play with William," I say, "He's said we'll go down to the seashore to look for shells and crabs and things. Doesn't that sound fun?"

Papa's forehead creases slightly at the mention of William Turner, but the smile on his face does not falter. He pats my cheek lovingly.

"Have a good time then, and be back for supper. You know I'll have to send Charlotte out for you if you don't come back on time."

I nod. Charlotte trailing after me as though I were a baby would be the worst. I am determined to be home on time. Skipping out of the room and out of the front door, I take the steps two at a time. Humming to myself I make my way down the road, watching my shadow sway to and fro upon the gravel. Suddenly, I run into something, or rather, someone.

"Oof. Watch where you're-"

James Norrington catches me under the arms before I can fall backward. Setting me upright he lets me go quickly as though he has been scalded by hot water. He smiles down at me, and I shield my eyes from the sun to better see him.

"Good day, Miss Elizabeth," he says, "And how are you settling in to Port Royal?"

"Just fine, thank you," I state matter-of-factly, "I miss my friend Georgia something terrible, but William Turner has been just as much fun to play with."

"It's nice of you to be friends with Mr. Turner since there are no children his age for him to play with otherwise," the lieutenant says kindly.

"I know," I chatter, "He can be awfully sad sometimes, and I wonder if it's because he doesn't have any friends other than me or if it's because he misses his family. What do you think?"

"Maybe it's a little bit of both," James says sagely, then he doffs his hat, "I've enjoyed our conversation Miss Elizabeth, but I've got some things to discuss with your father, so I must be on my way."

"Oh yes," I say, suddenly realising how much time I have wasted, "William will be waiting for me! I'm late!"

The lieutenant chuckles to himself as I pick up my skirts and run down the gravel road trying hard to make haste but not trip and fall at the same time. The young boy, Will Turner, with the serious eyes, is already waiting for me when I arrive at the seashore after a tumble through the jungle.

Upon seeing me he bursts into laughter.

"What?" I say, picking a few leaves and twigs out of my hair.

"Lizzy, certainly you didn't fall on the ground or anything did you? It looks as though you've been rolling in the dirt."

"Excuse me," I say, fixing him with a haughty look, "I'll have you know that young ladies do not run about and roll in dirt of any kind."

Will continues to grin at me without a word, and I can tell he is trying very hard to hold back his laughter. A bird calls from somewhere in the trees and Will looks in the opposite direction for an instant. In that instant I am able to scoop up a fistful of wet sand and launch it toward him. It hits him square in the forehead and slides down his nose in a wet mess splattering onto his clean shirt.

Shock registers on his face for a moment before he laughs, bends down, and retaliates by hitting me in the back as I attempt to run away. Shrieking and giggling I run up the beach and away from his onslaught. He runs after me on those thin legs of his, and eventually I find myself cornered against the ocean.

"You're trapped!" he calls from a few yards away. He's smart in keeping a safe distance.

Breathless, I see that he is quite right. There is only one means of escape available to me, so I take it without another thought. Diving head first into the crashing waves I hear Will shout, "Hey, no fair!" before going under. I hear a splash from under water and know that he has followed me. This is not over. Someone will rise from the ocean today, dripping wet, but victorious. So much for looking for seashells.


	4. Waltz Steps

**Authoress' Note: **Uh-oh. Puberty here we come. Goodness me I love mood swings and angsty teenager-ish-ness. Bring it on! James has no idea what's in store for him. Neither does the Governor methinks. He's probably wishing his wife were alive so that she could deal with all of this. Please review when you're done reading!

**Waltz Steps**

"Elizabeth, you look positively stunning," Papa says adoringly, as I descend the stairs, "Your mother would be so proud of you."

I take the last step slowly and let out my breath in a rush, having held it the entire way down, and blush slightly at Father's comment. The full skirts and all of the new undergarments will take much getting used to, and I only hope that I will not trip or embarrass myself in some other way tonight.

I wobble on the higher heels and feel more like a goose waddling about than the swan that Charlotte told me to be. As we walk by the mirror in the entrance hall I can't help glancing at myself. The painted face of a 13-year-old girl stuck somewhere in that limbo between childhood and womanhood stares back with wide awestruck eyes.

This will be my first ball, and already butterflies are flying about in my stomach as my heart pounds in my throat. It's one thing to be the daughter of an aristocrat, but another thing entirely to be the Governor's daughter, especially in Jamaica. At least that's what Charlotte said. It did nothing to comfort me or ease my nerves.

Papa ushers me toward the double doors at the end of the corridor from which the sweet notes of music and shrill chatter intermix. The door opens swiftly, and with less pomp and ceremony than I had expected we step inside. Immediately, men surround Papa, and terrified, I try my best to stay by his side. We move about the room as Papa greets his guests, and over and over again I am introduced to foreign diplomats, parliamentarians, and aristocrats of every size, shape, and colour. Just when I begin to feel that I shall not be able to smile or curtsy once more someone taps me on the shoulder.

"James!"

The lieutenant smiles and brings a finger to his lips. "Ssh, I'm Lieutenant Norrington in public, remember?"

Red roses bloom across my face, and I bring a hand up to cover them. "Oh, yes. I'm sorry. It seems I forgot."

James smiles reassuringly and reaches for my hand. Pulling it away from my face, he squeezes it, and then lets it fall gently by my side. He has never touched me before in such a way, and I shiver involuntarily at the warmth of his hand against mine.

"You look lovely, tonight, Miss Swann," he says, and I look down at my gown then, feeling more like a child in his presence than ever. "Would you care to join me for a dance? They're playing a lively quadrille, and that's one of my favourites."

This change of events cheers me considerably. "Let me ask Papa first," I say.

"Yes, of course."

I wait for Papa to finish speaking with the group of men he is standing with, and then touch his arm with my hand to catch his attention. He looks around him for a moment, and then down, perhaps wondering who was so bold.

I smile up at him. "Papa, Lieutenant Norrington has asked me to dance. May I?"

He glances at the lieutenant who stands a few feet away from us looking at nothing in particular with his hands clasped behind his back. Father shrugs.

"I don't see why not, my dear. He is an honourable man and a worthy partner for your first dance."

I beam at him, and slip through the crowd, which has grown considerably, to James' side. He takes my hand again, a motion that I am not entirely used to, and leads me through another set of double doors to the room beyond. I had not thought it possible to crowd so many people into one place, yet here they are, mashed up against the wall and snaking in between each other across the dance floor. I tighten my grip on James' hand so that we will not be separated.

Perhaps he senses my anxiety for he moves closer to me and chooses a spot toward the outside of the designated dance floor. The quadrille is over, and the fiddler and the cellist in the corner of the room strike up another popular English country dance. The other couples prepare by placing hands in arms and upon waists, but James does not do this. Instead he offers just his hands for me to place mine into. When I give him a quizzical look with one eyebrow raised, a look that I have slowly been perfecting, he smiles at me congenially.

"You have much to learn in the ways of etiquette, Miss Swann," he says, though in a kind way, "It would be entirely inappropriate of me to hold you in such a way considering your age and social status. Perhaps you should spend less time out playing with William Turner and more time studying."

Though I know he is jesting, I frown at the mention of Will, and accidently tread on James' feet before righting myself again.

"I do wish Will were here though," I say unhappily. I had asked Papa why he could not be invited, and he skirted around the question like I had never seen him do before. James looks slightly uncomfortable after hearing my sentiment. He's still smiling, but it's the kind of pained and uncomfortable smile that puts a damper on any moment.

"I'm sure he's busy," James finally says, "Being a blacksmith's apprentice is rather hard work you know. He doesn't have time to come to silly balls like this."

My frown deepens. "And we have time to come to silly balls?" I let out angrily and let my hands drop from James'. Turning on my heel, I rush from the room. Running now, I push my way through the women and men dressed in all their finery, and I do not stop until I am out in the empty corridor, which has darkened considerably. Papa does not even notice my departure.

Leaning against the wall I take a shuddering breath. Across from me is the mirror I passed by earlier. I look at myself, disgusted by my behaviour and even more so with how I look. Ripping the earrings from my ears and the necklace from about my neck, I dash them aside. Pulling off my uncomfortable shoes, I run up the stairs with hot tears in my eyes, down the corridor and into my room. I shut the door behind me with a _bang_ and fall onto my bed sobbing hard.

For the life of me I cannot understand how riches and finery make one person higher than another or more worthy. More than ever I am confused about the differences between Will and I and even more confused by the lieutenant's attitude. So upset am I that I do not even hear him call my name moments later.


	5. Step, Parry, Lunge

**Authoress' Note:** Writing Willabeth is tough once you've been writing Norribeth for so long. Thankfully nothing too serious is happening yet, and for those of you rooting for Norrie, don't lose heart. There will be several chapters coming up soon with him in it.

**Step, Parry, Lunge**

The moon is pale and wane, casting shadows in the alleyway as I slip from one dark space to the next wearing the clothes that Will has sent with me since our last escapade. It is a wonderful and freeing feeling to be able to run through the streets of Port Royal in trousers, something I have never felt before. They are not as hindering as skirts and they do not give me the feeling of breathlessness that I get when I am tied up into one of my frocks.

I have come to the conclusion that you can become virtually invisible when you are a boy. No one bothers you or asks questions of you. You can do as you please, and no one will fuss. Of course, if I were caught out who knows what Papa would do to me. The very thought of it is terrifying and makes me shiver involuntarily.

Slipping through the slick streets, I finally come to the wood and stone blacksmith's shop with its picture sign hanging over the front door. Mr. Brown's room is a block down, and so we will not be disturbed. I knock quietly on the damp wood, and instantly it cracks open. Will has been waiting. At first all I can see is a brown eye peering out at me, and then the door opens fully and the moonlight shines upon William's face.

"I didn't think you would come," he says breathlessly, "I almost didn't recognise you."

I stifle a laugh. "You're the one who gave me these clothes silly," I say, and he smiles at me sheepishly from under his mop of brown hair, which he has neglected to tie back as he usually does.

"I know, Lizzy, but I forgot is all."

"That's all right, I forgive you. Let's get started then, shall we?"

Will shuts the door behind me, and takes two swords down from their racks above. He hands the slightly smaller of the two to me.

"How's that? It's not too large is it?"

I weigh it in my hand and execute a few of the moves that Will has already taught me. It is a heavier sword than I am used to, but I do not say anything, because deep down I want to prove to Will that I can do anything he can do if I set my mind to it.

"No, it's perfect, Will. Did you make it?"

He scuffs the ground with his shoe and taps the point of his sword on the ground, shaking his head. "Mr. Brown made these. I haven't actually made any swords yet."

I frown and tuck the sword under my arm, "Why ever not? Surely after all this time Mr. Brown thinks you're capable-"

"It doesn't matter whether I'm capable or not," Will interjects, "I've only been here two years, Lizzy. That's not enough time to learn much of anything."

_I've learned to speak French and dance_, I think, but I keep that to myself so as not to injure his pride.

"Sorry, Will," I say, laying my hand on his arm, "I didn't mean to make you upset."

He stares at my hand, and at first I think he is going to shake it off, but he doesn't. "It's all right. You didn't know. I shouldn't have been so harsh with you."

I take my hand away, and he looks immensely more comfortable.

"All right now, you didn't come all the way out here in the dead of night to stand around and talk, did you?"

I shake my head, a grin alighting on my face.

"Let's get to work."

---

Early in the morning, my eyes heavy with sleep, I climb the rope I have fashioned from bed linens the night before to my open window above. The fire in the hearth has completely burned out, and a chill has settled in. Stripping off the dusty trousers and shirt, I lift my mattress with one hand and stuff them underneath as a temporary hiding place. The smell of dirt and sweat is still on my hands, but I do not wash them off because the smell of William is there too. Bringing my hands to my face, I breathe deeply of the earth and hard work.

The light begins to peek in through the window as I haul in the rope and stuff it out of sight as well. When I have plaited my hair and pulled on a clean nightgown the sun's rays have begun to bleed into the dark sky and over the window ledge. I draw the heavy curtain across the pane, and just as I hear movement next door in Charlotte's room, I launch myself onto the bed and draw the covers up to my chin.

Only half an hour later Charlotte knocks on my door and slips inside. Feigning sleep, I open one eye into a slit and watch as she scurries about the room, seemingly on tiptoe, lighting a fire and taking a crisp frock from out of the bureau. When she pulls aside the curtains I blink sleepily and sit up.

"Rise and shine, Miss Swann," she says all too cheerfully, "How are you this morning?"

I rub my eyes and groan inwardly making a mental note not to stay so long next time. Every muscle in my body aches with use and fatigue. I stifle a yawn, and pray that there aren't dark circles under my eyes that would give me away. What a night.


	6. Steps in the Opposite Direction

**Authoress' Note: **So, in an attempt at some character growth in Elizabeth I went down a little deeper path than I usually do. I hope it doesn't come out sounding too cliché or whatever. I had the hardest time trying to get my point across. She's growing up and turning into a different person. I just want people to understand that. The title is a reference to the fact that Elizabeth is falling in love with Will rather than James as we would like her to do.

**Steps in the Opposite Direction**

_Ping_. Another pebble strikes the windowpane, and I push it open and glare down at Will. He looks up at me innocently and smiles broadly. His eyes twinkle in the darkness like stars, and for a second my irritation dwindles.

"Give me a second to put on something decent, would you?" I hiss down at him and pull the window in again.

Padding across the room to my door I press my ear against it and listen intently. The house sighs and creaks with the wind, and next-door Charlotte snores. Nothing seems out of place or amiss. Checking the lock, I bend down and pull on my boots. Throwing a shawl about my shoulders I make my way back to the window.

"Are you ready now?" Will whispers up to me. I wave at him in answer and toss the faux rope down after securing it to the bedpost. Will takes a step back and watches as I shimmy down and drop when I am less than a yard or so from the ground. Dusting my self off I take William's offered hand.

We are at the backside of the house nearest to the beach and beyond that, the ocean. Will leads the way in silence as we push through the thick foliage that has grown up around the paths leading to the sea. Several times he looks back at me, and once he squeezes my hand. The stars and the moon above flit in and out of sight between the silhouettes of branches and palm trees.

We stumble out onto the beach and survey the peaceful scene in front of us. Frogs and other nighttime creatures croak quietly behind us in the cool darkness of the jungle, whilst before us lays an expanse of white sand and a frothing ocean. Still hand-in-hand and clutching my shawl about me, we shuffle through the cool sand till we reach the waters edge.

I look down at the tiny grains of sand being pulled around my bare feet by the force of the ocean current. I glance at Will then and realise that he is still holding my hand. I tighten my grip and stare back out into the darkness, as new understanding washes over me, an understanding I have never experienced before. Suddenly, with William Turner standing beside me at this precipice, I realise that the difference I had been searching for between us is not there. It never existed. All at once the utter unfairness of life seems to dissipate in an instant with the tide. Will meets my gaze, and I feel something odd, a premonition of sorts.

Fate was at work when it sent me William Turner, and I am convinced right now that we are meant to be together. When I open my mouth to tell Will this I find that I do not have the words. We walk back up the beach to drier sand and sit down with our legs out in front of us. I let my shawl blow in the light wind and close my eyes savouring the feeling of freedom from the chains of class and distinction that had bound me for so long.

"You're the best friend anyone could ever have, Lizzy," Will says into the darkness.

I look up and smile at the stars above, happy that he has said so, but disappointed that he doesn't feel more. I suppose that I should give him time, after all, we are only 14, and there will be many more nights like this one in the future. At least I hope there will be.

"I couldn't have been blessed with a better friend either, Will," I say back, and then I remember something I have been longing to ask him since we found him floating upon that broken board of wood. "Do you mind if I ask you question?"

Will looks at me with that twinkle in his eyes. "You know you can ask me anything."

I nod, "How is it that you were still alive when we found you the day we first met?"

Will's eyebrows come together and his forehead wrinkles in thought. He stares off at some fixed mark a few feet away before opening his mouth to reply.

"I don't really know rightly," he says slowly, pondering his answer, "It was all luck or fate or something. I just jumped at the right time I think, and the rest was up to your ship."

Another question comes to mind, "Can you imagine us not being friends?"

Will looks at me as though I've committed the worst crime anyone could ever imagine. "No, of course I can't!" he cries, "To be honest, I think I'd be dead without you."

Tears well up in my eyes, and I lean against his shoulder so that he cannot see them. I can hear his heart beat through his skin, and putting my hand to my chest I match it to my own. When I can finally speak again it is in a whisper, "Well, I'm certainly glad you're not dead William Turner."

"So, am I," Will says, he means it somberly, but just hearing him agree lightens the mood between us. I close my eyes and breathe the sea air in deeply. It feels wonderful just to be next to him when we must usually be kept far apart in normal circumstances.

"Elizabeth!"

"Hmm, Will, did you say something?" I ask, opening my eyes and peering up at him. He looks down at me, confusion in his eyes.

"No, I didn't say anything at all. But, did you hear that? Someone is calling your name."

We stand up then, ramrod straight, and turn toward the wall of shrubbery as the call goes out again. Suddenly out of the foliage behind us James Norrington appears, pale and panicky. His eyes immediately lock onto the two of us standing straight ahead of him. Turning, he cups his hands to his mouth and yells loudly, "I've found her!"

Other voices, more far away and impossible to distinguish, make their way towards us on the wind. James, now looking more tired than anything else, pushes his hair out of his eyes and walks down to meet us. He places me on one side of him and Will on the other side. I have never seen him look so upset before. His brow is furrowed and a vein throbs in his left temple. As we walk at a brisk pace back through the trees I try talking to him, "James, I-"

"Don't call me that!" he snaps, "Don't you have any sense of propriety in your head?"

The way he says it is sharp and stings like a slap to the face. Tears burn my eyes again. Will struggles slightly against the hold that James has on his upper arm.

"Hey, don't talk to her that way!" he growls.

The young lieutenant shoots him a stony look that sends him into silence again. "Don't start with me, Mr. Turner. I will speak to her in any way I please as it will be a thousand times more congenial than her father will speak with her tonight. I suggest you keep your head down if you want to keep it at all."

We march up to the house in silence and enter through the back doors into chaos. Servants are running every which way in a hubbub of yelling and clattering. In the centre of it all is my father, pacing the floor. I hang my head when I see him, a knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach. More than anything I wish I were back in bed where I belong.

Everything ceases as soon as we walk into the room. I can feel every eye in the room gravitate toward us, and they burn me to the core. James lets go of Will's arm and steps back to stand behind us.

Papa stares for a few moments, unblinking "Leave us please," he says in a whisper that echoes through the hall, "Except James. Stay here a moment longer."

When the last clattering of footsteps on the tile and hushed whisper can no longer be heard Papa starts in on us. I wince as he turns his gaze first at me, a gaze that I have never seen look so terrifying.

"What did you think you were doing?" he asks. I had expected yelling, but instead he whispers and it unnerves me all the more. "Do you understand how dangerous that was? No one knew where you were. Poor Charlotte thought perhaps you'd been abducted, and God knows that could have been the case. I am not as angry as I am ashamed of your conduct. Have I taught you nothing of using your head and thinking before acting? You did neither tonight, and you have jeopardised everything your mother and I have worked for."

I shrink under his gaze, and when he is finished I fear I have been reduced to nothing. Then he turns on Will, who gulps, but straightens defiantly. I wish he wouldn't.

"I am most ashamed of your behaviour tonight, Mr. Turner. Have we not provided everything for you since the moment you came under our care? And this is how you repay us, by taking my daughter without permission and without accompaniment? You can be rest assured now that you will most likely never see her again if I have anything to say about it. You may be able to wield a sword, but you are not invincible."

"It is very lucky that Lieutenant Norrington was so good as to assist in the search. He knew that you liked to frequent the beach, Elizabeth, and thought that was the best place to begin. I am grateful to him for that, and for bringing you back in one piece."

I turn my head slightly and see James nod out of the corner of my eye. His lips are turned upward in a slight smile that borders on smugness. Furious, I turn back to face my father once again.

"Now then, we must put this all behind us. Elizabeth, you will go to bed, and James, you will accompany Mr. Turner home. If I find that you have been seeing each other again I swear to you, Elizabeth, that I shall have you shipped back to England. Perhaps a boarding school would do better at teaching you some common sense and propriety than I have done."

I burst into tears then and gathering my nightgown into my hands I run up the stairs and into my room without saying good-bye to Will. Charlotte knocks on my door some minutes later.

"Go away!" I scream and bury my face in my pillow. I will not see William Turner for a long while, and I convince my self that till then every day will be a living hell.


	7. How Many Steps in a Day?

**Authoress' Note:** I think we've almost made it through the teenage years unscathed. :P Gone are the rebellious Lizzy days, and onward to the stuck up and haughty Lizzy days. That should be quite refreshing. By the way, I totally stole a line from Jane Austen's _Sense and Sensibility_. LOL. See if you can spot it, and I'll give you some virtual cookies. Thanks for reading, as always! Please review when you're done!

**How Many Steps in a Day?**

Seven hundred and twenty four. That is the number of days it has been since I have seen William Turner or the venerable Lieutenant James Norrington. It is hard to believe that so much time has passed, and it is also a wonder that our paths have not crossed. Papa has made certain of that. My days have been filled by idle past times including my continued instruction in French, other such useless activities as embroidery and sewing, as well as a course on etiquette. As I said, it has been a long two years.

So many things have changed in two years however, many of them good. Body parts that once felt dysfunctional and out of place have settled. Unnaturally large hands and feet have become less ungainly, and one might even say, dainty. One morning, a year ago or so I woke up, laced up a dress, and found I had more curves than sometime before. It delighted me to no end to know that I was a woman not just in looks anymore but in other ways as well. But I shouldn't talk about that of course, it's not proper for a lady to do so.

I blot the ink from my quill on a separate sheet of parchment before signing the letter with a flourish. The noonday sun streams in through the open window, and I gaze out of it for a minute before folding the letter and sealing it with a wax stamp. Charlotte knocks on the door just as I stand up.

"I'm going to the fort. The men have brought in goods from the East Indies, and I thought maybe I'd find something exotic to buy. Would you like to come along?"

I set the letter down, "Yes, of course!"

Any chance to get out of the house is a welcome one. Placing a few coins into the hidden pocket in my gown I check my hair in the mirror, add a dab of colour to my lips, and take up my fan in case it should get hot while we're out under the Jamaican sun.

"Do you think they'll have silk or feathers?" I ask Charlotte as I follow her down the corridor and onto the landing of the entrance hall staircase. "I've heard peacock feathers are the-"

I stop short as my breath suddenly hitches in my throat at a most welcome sight standing at the bottom of the stairs. William Turner is in my house. We stand shocked for a moment taking each other in and marveling at the changes that we see. He is taller and his shoulders have broadened out, though he still has the same brown hair and deep brown eyes that I have grown to love.

"William!" I cry, moving quickly down the stairs toward him, "Whatever are you doing here? Did my father invite you?"

His eyes meet mine as I step down to meet him, and he nods courteously. "Yes, I am here on official business," he says, "I am honoured to be in this house once more. You look well, Miss Swann."

"Miss Swann?" I repeat, one eyebrow raised, "Since when have you called me that, _Mr. Turner_. It's Lizzy, remember?"

"Yes, Miss Swann."

I frown then. "What's the matter with you? It's as though you do not know me at all. Will you not shake hands with me?"

I hold out my hand expectantly, and Will takes it in his for a moment before allowing his hand to drop back to his side.

"William, I-"

"_I will explain everything later_."

If I had not seen his mouth move a miniscule amount I would not have believed that the words he spoke actually came from him. He does not need to say more however. In only a few words he has conveyed to me his own feelings of entrapment and solitude. I nod my head, and take a step back.

"_I understand_," I whisper so that only he may hear.

I curtsy and he bows, as is expected, and Charlotte and I depart, both of us speaking about everything but the encounter that has just occurred. When we arrive at the fort a crowd has already formed, and Charlotte and I are forced to squeeze between pressing people to see any of the wares. Just as I am leaning over a pair of silk gloves a familiar figure catches my eye.

Straightening up, I follow him with my eyes wondering if he will notice me. He looks slightly older, but all the more handsome. The sun has browned his skin, and the uniform he wears has changed since I last saw him. I saunter through the throng of people, staring him down, until finally, as though some unseen thing has alerted him to my gaze, he looks directly at me.

A contained smile graces his lips as he makes his way toward me. I try to contain my excitement at seeing him again, as it cannot look as though I have forgiven him so readily for what he did two years ago.

"Miss Swann," he says, bowing politely, "Somehow I thought I would be seeing you here. If I may be so bold, you look as lovely as ever. How is your father?"

"Yes, you may be so bold," I say icily, "When has that ever stopped you from interfering with my life before?"

For a moment he looks as though he has been slapped in the face, but he composes himself quickly.

"I certainly did not expect your forgiveness, Miss Swann," he stammers, "but I thought perhaps you would be capable of civility."

His plight breaks my heart in two, and I soften a bit. "Yes, I'm sorry, that was quite out of turn," I say, looking down at my hand which are wringing themselves into knots, "Please forgive me."

He nods, swallowing hard, and looks down as well.

"You inquired after my father," I continue, avoiding his eyes again, "He is well enough, though I thought perhaps you might know that."

My neutral tone seems to give James courage once again. "No, I did not. You see, I have been on duty for a year and a half now and have just returned."

"Duty? Still a lieutenant then?" I say, attempting to lighten the mood between us.

He laughs, and I cannot help smiling. "No, I'm Captain of the _H.M.S_ _Interceptor_ now. She's a new ship and needs some breaking in. Would you like to see her?"

"See her?" I ask, surprised that he would even want to spend a minute more with me after how I have treated him, "Yes, of course. I'll have to ask Father, and Charlotte will need to come as well, but I don't see why not."

"Tomorrow then?"

"Yes, tomorrow," I agree with a nod.

He bows and I curtsy, and we go our separate ways. I cannot believe for a moment the way events have taken place today of all days. Perhaps I shall go with Charlotte to the fort more often.


	8. Steps in the Right Direction

**Authoress' Note:** *dreamy sigh* I do love this vignette. We finally get some Elizabeth/James alone time. For the first time, I think, Elizabeth actually considers James. This whole vignette just reeks of character development. I lurve it. Reviews are wonderful, by the way. Thank you, thank you to everyone who has reviewed as of late! You all make my day a little brighter. :D Keep it up!

**Steps in the Right Direction**

"Papa, we're leaving!" I call from the bottom of the stairs.

"Is Charlotte with you?"

I roll my eyes and look at Charlotte with a you-better-speak-up-now look. She nods and clears her throat.

"Yes, I'm going with her, Sir. No need to worry."

"Good," Father calls, "It's lovely to hear your voice, Charlotte."

"Yes, I know, Sir."

Papa's head appears around the corner of the corridor entryway. "Have a good time then. Bring my greetings to the Captain for me, will you Elizabeth?"

"Yes," I say through gritted teeth, "Anything else?"

"No, that's all." He gives a small wave, and I stalk out, annoyed by the claustrophobic atmosphere in which I am kept, with Charlotte scurrying behind me to keep up.

When we reach the fort, James is already there waiting for us in his captaincy garb. From far away he looks just as regal as I remember him, yet his face seems to have taken on a stonier far-off look. It doesn't suit him very well. He helps the two of us down from our carriage and bows over my hand. Charlotte turns the other cheek at his gesture, and I wonder if, deep down, she still likes him half as much as she did when she first met him.

The cobblestone street dips down away from the fort and down to the harbour where numerous fishing boats are docked. Far off, bobbing up and down upon the crystal blue Caribbean Sea is the _H.M.S. Interceptor_. It is the finest ship I have ever seen with its crisp white sails snapping in the wind and the fresh coat of azure blue paint on its hull. I immediately think of Will and how much he would enjoy seeing this ship. Perhaps he can see it from the blacksmith's shop, though it is far away.

"Is she not the very beauty I described to you, Miss Swann?" James says, and I look at him, distracted by the change in his voice. His eyes are glazed over with pride, and that pride seeps into every word he speaks about his beloved ship. You would think him married to her.

The newly appointed Captain leads us down the cobblestone path that runs parallel to the sea. We finally come to a dock that juts out the farthest from the harbour wall where a longboat sits ready to be cast off.

"You're taking us out there to see her?" I say, glancing at the longboat as we near it.

"Aye, I did promise you could see her, didn't I? We may as well do it proper," James says, a wide grin spreading across his face, as he helps lower me into the rocking boat. He helps Charlotte in next before lowering himself in.

"Yes, I suppose I do remember that," I say, slightly flustered. "I had not known that common civilians were allowed on naval ships."

"You are not a common civilian, Miss Swann," Captain Norrington replies nonchalantly, though I catch the twinkle that lights up his eyes as he says it. "I assure you, all the necessary people have been consulted, and you will find that we are all within the law."

The _Interceptor_ is immense. Much, much more so than our miniscule longboat, which floats precariously upon the water next to its mother ship. The waves are rougher this far out from shore, and for a moment I fear our little boat shall be dashed to pieces against the larger one.

A firm hand takes mine and helps me up, and before I realise what's going on I find myself staggering over the threshold of a gap in the ships railing and onto the deck itself. Charlotte trips behind me and catches herself on my arm. When I look at her she is deathly pale.

"Charlotte, are you all right?"

"No, I'm afraid not, Miss," she says, leaning against the railing for support, "I'm afraid the sea doesn't quite agree with me today."

I turn to James, whose hat and white wig finally appear over the side of the ship. A few soldiers standing about help him to haul the longboat up and secure it against the side of the ship.

James takes a look at Charlotte and helps her to sit down on a crate nearby. "You'll feel better once you get your sea legs again. If you watch the horizon you'll find that the motion of the sea beneath us isn't so bad after all."

Charlotte takes his advice and spends the remaining time staring off into the distance. I watch her for a few moments, my brows furrowed with concern, but when the paleness drains from her face and is replaced by some colour I am at ease again. It is surprising how the tables have turned since our last sea voyage brought us to Jamaica.

James leads me up to the helm where I turn the ships wheel for good measure before heading to the bow to look out over the expanse of ocean before me. Never before have I seen anything quite so breathtaking. I feel insignificant standing on this ship in the middle of the vast ocean.

"What do you make of it, Miss Swann?" James asks from behind me.

I turn to face him, delight on my face. "It's beautiful, James. I've never seen anything quite so powerful yet delicate at the same time. Thank you for allowing me to see it."

He doesn't bother to correct my breach of propriety, but smiles to himself instead, "Anything for you, Miss Swann."

I turn from him, a blush creeping into my cheeks. Quickly I change the subject, "When we sailed from England I didn't appreciate the beauty of the ship then. Though this one is a thousand times more beautiful, I understand now things I did not before."

Captain James Norrington does not answer, and when I turn to him his eyes, which I know have been watching me, snap to something else entirely. I stare at him for a moment to see if he will look at me again, but when he does not I turn my eyes back to the horizon and rest my chin on my hand, thinking of everything and nothing, but most notably of Captain James Norrington and William Turner.


	9. Stepping Into Adulthood

**Authoress' Note: **I love the interaction between Gov. Swann and Elizabeth in this one. I hope you'll agree that it's quite a beautiful scene between the two of them. As for future vignettes after this one, I have to admit I'm having a bit of trouble. Perhaps all of you who review can help me. I have this need to have another vignette solely between James and Elizabeth. As you all know, they are going to get married in the end, but I need something angsty beforehand. Any ideas? The vignette I have in mind could work, but it does seem a bit dramatic.

**Stepping Into Adulthood**

An insistent rapping on my bedroom door causes me to sit up in alarm. I push the heavy bed covers off of me, stumble over a footstool, and reach for my dressing gown which I pull on hastily.

"Elizabeth, are you up yet? Are you decent?" comes my father's voice from the other side of the door.

"Yes, yes," I call breathlessly, glancing at the clock ticking away on the wall.

The door opens, and Papa bustles in with Charlotte in tow who is carrying a rather large and heavy looking box. She sets it down and goes about opening the dark curtains. Bright light streams in from outside, and I close my eyes in irritation.

"Elizabeth, dear, I have something for you."

My eyes snap open again. "Something for me?" I ask, feigning surprise. It is my 18th birthday after all. "Papa, you shouldn't have?"

The old man chuckles to him self and motions for Charlotte to open the box. Inside is a pale green coloured dress inlaid with a gold vine and leaf pattern. I touch it gingerly, my eyes wide. The silk cloth is like water under my hand, cool and relenting.

"Papa, this is beautiful."

I take the delicate gown from the box and hold it up to myself in the full looking glass. Papa's eyes twinkle delightedly, and then he takes a small velvet box from the inside of his waistcoat.

"Here's a little something else for you, my dear. You're mother would have wanted you to have it."

My mother. Just hearing him say those words sends a shiver down my spine, and my hands tremble as I take the midnight blue box in my hands. It is lightweight, and I wonder what could be in it. It takes a moment for me to pry it open, but what I see inside makes me gasp.

Two identical pearl earrings and a matching necklace sparkle in the morning light. I touch one gently, feeling its firmness beneath my hand. They are as dainty as dewdrops, and I can imagine them adorning my mother's ears and neck as though she was born to wear them.

"Papa, I don't know what to say. . ."

I set the box down and put my arms around him, breathing in the smell of his tobacco pipe and wig powder that seem to be a part of him. He sighs and pats my back gently. I step back, though he keeps his hands on my shoulders looking at me as though he cannot seem to get enough of this moment. He lifts my chin with one finger.

"You look so much like your mother," he says, and I can see the tears in his eyes threatening to spill over.

My own stomach tightens and a lump forms in my throat. "I wish she were here," I whisper, my voice shaky and tears sliding one after another down my cheek.

Papa nods, perhaps not trusting himself to speak. He wipes at his eyes with a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket, and then dabs at my own. I laugh slightly through the tears.

"Papa, I'm 18 years old, I think I can do that myself."

"You will always be a little girl to me," he replies, and I beam at him with a watery smile.

There is another knock on the door then, and Charlotte moves from her place in the corner to answer it. Another servant stands dressed in his finest livery with a look of smugness on his face.

"A Captain Norrington is here to see you, Miss Swann," he says and nods at Papa out of respect.

"Thank you," I say, dabbing at my eyes to relieve them of their current state of redness, "Would you tell him I'll only be a few minutes?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

As soon as he leaves Papa heads toward the door. "You wouldn't mind if I speak with the Captain for a few minutes while you get ready, would you?"

"No, that's all right," I call from behind the screen where Charlotte is lacing me into my new gown.

The door closes and all that can be heard for a few minutes is the rustle of silk against skin and the sound of the ocean outside. I find my mind wandering, and I tug it back to James. Sometimes I find that I just do not understand him or men in general. He has showered me with gifts and has fulfilled every meaning of the verb " to court", yet I've found that although he is kind and attentive I do not love him. There is something lacking about him that I cannot place my finger on. He is dull at times, and I find that when we are together we speak in overused and recycled sentences.

"_Good day, Miss Swann."_

"_How are you, Miss Swann?"_

"_Isn't the weather lovely today, Miss Swann?"_

He says nothing about me or his family or interests. There is no spontaneity in him, and at times I find myself bored with his presence. William Turner, however, is another story altogether. I knew from the moment I met him that he was different, that he was someone I could love, and when I think upon it now I believe I do love him, more than I have loved anyone in the entire world, besides Papa that is.

Charlotte finishes with my hair, and I stand up, smoothing down my skirt as I do so. I head down the corridor, and when I get to the stairs I look down and meet James' eyes. He abruptly stops the conversation he is having with my father, and his eyes widen as I descend the stairs.

"Elizabeth," he stammers.

It is the first time I have heard my name said by him without a "miss" in front of it.

"You are beautiful."

"Thank you, James," I say kindly and curtsy evenly as I approach. Papa looks at the two of us in wonder, laughter playing at his lips.

"I'll leave you two alone then, shall I?"

When we do not respond right away he takes that as his cue to leave. We remain silent for a minute or two more, watching each other. James' looks slightly uncomfortable under my gaze. He shakes his head suddenly and looks about him as though he has just realised where he is.

"Ah yes, Miss Swann . . ."

I let out an exasperated sigh. We're back to where we started just when I thought we had made a breakthrough.

"I have something for you that I picked up whilst I was in the Americas a few months ago. I've been saving it especially for this day."

"How thoughtful of you."

James seems slightly flustered as he searches through the pockets of his coat. "Yes, well, eh, here it is."

He offers forth a box, which he must yank out of his coat pocket as it was much too big to be in there in the first place. I take the box in two hands, untie the ribbon around it, and pull the lid off. Inside is something I had not been expecting at all. It is a small watercolour portrait of a ship in bright blues and greens painted upon the expanse of a seashell.

"Oh, James, this is beautiful," I say, tracing the intricate design of the ship with my finger.

"A beautiful gift for a beautiful young woman," he says quietly, and I almost do not hear him.

I do not blush, but meet his eyes instead, my hand curling over the top of the box.

"Thank you, James."

"As always, Miss Swann."

---

"Charlotte, do you still like James?"

She looks confused at my question as she tucks a hot pan beneath the covers at the end of the bed.

"Of course I like him. What's not to like about him, Miss?" she answers with an innocent shrug.

"No, I mean, do you still love him?" I ask, a little quieter this time and slightly afraid of her answer.

Charlotte sighs and lowers herself into a chair across from my bed. She dabs at her face, which has become more lined in recent years, with her apron.

"I don't anymore I'm afraid, Elizabeth," she says sadly, "I don't have the luxury of choosing the man I would like to love or marry. The Captain is unfortunately quite out of my league as they say."

I look down at the book in my hands sadly. "I'm sorry, Charlotte."

"That's all right. Don't worry about me, just worry about you," she folds her hands into her lap, and I set my book aside. "What about you and Captain Norrington? Now there's a fine match."

I nod, chewing on my bottom lip, "Yes, it is a fine match indeed. He's a fine man. Any woman would be happy to call him her husband."

Charlotte senses my uncertainty, and the lines across her forehead increase. "But you would not?"

I glance at her, turn over, and pull the covers up and around me.

"I don't know, Charlotte. I just don't know."


	10. Stumbling Steps in the Dark

**Authoress' Note:** Hello all! Thank you so much to those of you who been keeping up with this and reviewing! You have no idea how excited it makes me to see all those reviews in my inbox. Sort of makes me into a bit of an airhead, but I think that's how all authors feel at some point. Reality will set in eventually. Also, thank you to anyone who gave me some ideas for a future vignette. This one is sort of a random one that I wrote after reading your ideas, but don't worry, another one farther down the line will make its debut eventually. Just to let all of you know this may be my last update for a good 2 weeks. Things are getting really hectic around here. Keep the reviews coming!

**Stumbling Steps in the Dark**

I slip out of the blacksmith's shop as discreetly as I can and try to melt into the darkness descending from the heavens. The clopping of horse's hooves against the cobblestones causes me to jump and pull my shawl up and around my head so that I can't be easily identified.

"It's getting a little late, isn't it?" James' voice asks from behind me. My heart jolts in my chest at the sound, and I pull my shawl tighter underneath my chin, nodding my head slightly in agreement.

James' horse pulls up directly next to me, and I lower my head slightly so that he can't see the side of my face. He looms over me, unsuspecting.

"Would you like some company on your way home? It's dangerous for a young lady like you to be wandering around her alone in the dark."

I close my eyes, taken aback slightly by his chivalry. Slowly, I lower my shawl to my shoulders and look up at James. He is shocked momentarily before arranging his face into a more neutral stance. His horse comes up short, and he pulls her in to block my path and keep me from moving.

"I insist on walking you home, Miss Swann," he says, his tone more firm, as he slides down from the saddle and doubles the horse's reins around his hand.

I put a hand on his arm, stopping both of us in the middle of the empty road. He turns to me, his eyes confused.

"You may walk with me under two conditions," I say in a business-like voice that causes one of James' eyebrows to disappear under his wig for a moment, "First, you will not ask what I have been doing. Second, if my Father asks, you will say we met up in the market. I was running errands for Charlotte. Is that clear?"

James looks slightly disheartened at such a response despite the face he had offered himself so nicely, but he nods, pulls at his horse's reins again, and we start off again in silence. Night has fallen in that short space of time, and I admit to myself that I am grateful for having James with me for we are passing the tavern where a brothel has been known to exist under cover of darkness.

The dank stench of alcohol and smoke wafts down to us as we pass. The strumming of a guitar can be heard accompanying a young woman's voice. The men's voices are loud and boisterous. It is obvious that many are already drunk. We side step a man lying stone asleep in the filth of the street and ignore the raucous sounds being made by a man and a woman in an alley off to our left.

We hurry on, James apologizing over and over again for having to take me through such a rough part of town. I am glad for the gloom and lack of street lamps, as I would not want him to see the blush spreading across my cheeks. After he apologises for the fifth time I put a hand on his arm again to stop him. His speaking instantly ceases.

"James, how do you think I got to the blacksmith's shop? There's only one road that goes there. It was inevitable that I should have to go that way. There's no need to apologise."

"Why didn't you go earlier then, before it got dark?" he says sharply. He is angry, and I can't understand why.

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, James Norrington," I seethe, taking my hand from its place on his arm. He takes hold of my upper arm firmly with his hand then, and we march along much quicker than before. He stares straight ahead, his eyes unblinking and his mouth set in a straight line.

"And what would have happened if one of those men from the tavern had got hold of you?" he whispers icily, and his grip on my arm tightens painfully, "Would you have been capable of taking care of yourself then?"

"James, stop-" I cry, his hand becoming tighter and tighter, "James, you're hurting me!"

Instantly, he lets go as though he has been burned and stares at his hand with disgust. He looks at me then as I rub my arm unconsciously. I look away from the burning in his eyes, and when I look back at him his eyes have softened. He brings his hand up to my cheek but does not touch me. There is hardly any space between us, and I shiver involuntarily.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," he whispers, the moon reflected in his brown eyes, "I just- I would hate to see you hurt in such a way. I can hardly imagine what they would do to you. I don't want to imagine it . . ."

He trails off and looks away, shuddering. After several minutes we continue onward, and we do not speak until we have entered onto more well lit streets. James breathes an audible sigh of relief next to me, and he pats his horse's nose with his free hand.

We stop short at the front gate, and I take James' hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. It is all I can offer him. He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it gently, and though my spine tingles at the touch I cannot allow him to go much further.

"Thank you for your company, James," I say, looking down at my skirt, "I only wonder why you did it. It couldn't have been just a mere act of chivalry or else you would have gone after that young woman in the alley as well."

He looks down at our entwined hands, and then meets my eyes again.

"I lo- I deeply care for you, Miss Swann, and as I said, I wouldn't have been able to stand it if you had come to any harm," he says simply, and with another gentle squeeze of my hand, he lets it fall gently back to my side.

We walk up the drive in silence putting on a façade of relief and happiness, hoping that it will dissuade any other notion of what we could have been doing at such an hour. It seems to work. Papa and Charlotte answer the door together and are overjoyed to see me even as James Norrington is regaling the tale of how we met at the market and spent too much time talking.

Papa has a twinkle in his eye, and I believe, fully trusts the story, however Charlotte knows better. I can see the keen sharpness in her eye when James mentions I was doing errands for Charlotte. I feign fatigue, however, and after sending the Captain on his way, I am sent up to bed without a word of interrogation or recompense.

That night I dream of a man on a white horse rescuing me over and over again from a creeping darkness coming from beneath the blacksmith's shop door. It steals over the cobblestones behind me as I search vainly for my way home, until just as I am utterly trapped, the man, shrouded in white, swoops down from on high and carries me away.

**Authoress' Note:** ANGST, ANGST, ANGST!!!


	11. Falling Backward, Stepping Away

**Authoress' Note:** I'm ba-ack! I know, I know, it's been much too long. I just got back from holiday in New York City, and I had a fantastic time, so much so that I completely forgot about this story and writing in general. Now that I'm back though I have suddenly realised what little time I have left to finish up this story before I go to uni. As such, I'm hoping to update again in the next couple of days. Keep your eyes peeled and those lovely reviews coming. I enjoy reading each and every one of them! Sorry for all the Willabeth in this vignette, by the way. . . :(

**Falling Backward, Stepping Away**

I press my ear against the parlor door despite Charlotte's whispers of disapproval. The wood is too thick however, and everything being said reaches my ears in a muffled garble of words and sounds. Charlotte pulls at my hand urgently, but I push her away gently.

"What do you think they're talking about?" I ask quietly.

"I don't know, Miss," my companion responds with a tremor in her voice, "But I'd hate to be caught out here eavesdropping. Come away from the door. _Please_."

Suddenly the voices grow louder, and I jump back from the door and step on Charlotte's foot. She yelps loudly, and we scurry away just as Papa opens the door.

"Ah, Elizabeth, there you are," he says.

We smile serenely at him from our place on a conveniently placed chaise across the room trying not to give away that anything was in the slightest amiss.

"Mr. Turner has asked most properly if he may speak to you alone about something urgent. He will not tell me what it is, but assures me it is nothing to be alarmed about. I have granted that you may speak to him in the parlor for ten minutes and no more. Do you understand?"

I nod, a perfect picture of calm, yet inside my stomach is bubbling over with joy. It has been so long since I have been able to see Will and speak to him without having to sneak around in the dead of night. I slip through the open door, and Papa shuts it behind me with a _click._

My heart flutters at the sight of William standing across from me. He has grown so strong in the past few years from sword training and more handsome by the day. I stride across the room and take his hands in mine, holding them to my heart.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met," he whispers, taking one of his hands from my grasp and placing it against my cheek. I close my eyes at the warmth and breathe deeply. A minute passes and then we are broken from our reverie as the clock strikes the hour.

"What is it that was so urgent?" I finally ask, still holding his hands in mine.

Will looks down at our joined hands and then back up at me. "I am going away for a while."

I shake my head, confused. There is no way I could have heard him correctly.

"What?"

"For the past few years I have felt lost, Elizabeth. I left England all those years ago knowing not a soul, and never knowing what happened to my parents. Of course, you remember when I received word that my mother had died some years ago, but no one knew what had happened to my father."

"And . . . and you have to find him?" I whisper, piecing everything together.

He nods. "I know it may sound silly and juvenile, but I feel that if I could find him then my life will feel complete again. I will have a proper family."

"No, no," I say, looking about wildly as though searching for an answer to what is happening, "I am your family. Marry me, and we can be our own family. Don't you love me?"

Will catches my chin gently in one hand and stills my harried movements. I stare up at him my eyes searching his for some explanation as to why he must leave now; why he cannot wait until we are happily married and settled.

"I love you more than I have loved anyone else in the world. I love you more than I even thought possible."

He says this all too calmly, and I throw his hands from my grasp, and turn from him, hot tears flowing unchecked down my face. My heart pounds painfully in my chest, and I have the sudden urge to tear it out and end my suffering. Then his hand is on my shoulder, burning me like a hot iron, and I slowly turn to face him.

His eyes are sad, the saddest I have ever seen them, even when he was in one of his melancholic moods as a child. He touches my cheek gently, filling the space between us. Wiping away my tears with his other hand, I cannot help being drawn to putting my arms around him. Before I know what's happening his lips are against mine, and I'm thinking, _this can't be right. Why am I crying? Things weren't supposed to happen this way!_

I am trembling when we separate, and I can taste the salt of my own tears on my lips. Will strokes my face gently, soothingly, but I am anything but soothed. I long to scream, to cry out, to pound my fists against his chest and forbid him to go. But it seems he has sucked everything out of me with that one kiss. I feel lifeless even at his touch, which so exhilarated me at one time.

"Sometimes," Will says quietly, "I believe we were destined to be together, Elizabeth. I know that some day, soon, I will come home and spend the rest of my life with you. That's what destiny is. It's our future. You have to hold on to that whilst I'm gone."

I nod dumbly, wishing that of all the times he could have mentioned fate or destiny it had to be now, when I knew that no such power could be at work if it were pushing us apart.

"Do you know when you'll come back?" I ask.

He shakes his head.

"It could take years."

"Surely you wouldn't search for that long?" I ask, horrified at the thought of waiting year after year for a homecoming that might never come.

"If I had to. You would wait for me, wouldn't you?"

I hesitate for a moment thinking of everything that could happen in that amount of time. A horrible thought crosses my mind, that of marrying someone else, James Norrington perhaps, and starting a new life, falling in love all over again. I couldn't do it. The pain would be too much to bear, so I nod.

"Yes, I would wait for you."

Who knew, even now, that waiting would be the hardest part, and that my worst nightmare would become my reality? The short moment between us is broken forever as Father raps smartly on the door and opens it slightly. His voice issues forth just as I swipe my hand under my eyes to hide my tears. Will offers me a handkerchief but I know it to be useless. Already my eyes are puffy and red; Father will know something has been amiss.

"Times up, Elizabeth. You may say your good-byes at the door."

William follows me out of the room, keeping his head bowed so that he does not have to meet my father's eyes, as though he will be able to read every aspect of our conversation in them. I too look toward the ground, keeping the redness of my eyes hidden from view as best as possible.

Father watches our silent and melancholic parade makes its way to the door. It is opened, Will bows in my general direction, and I curtsy. In an instant he has stepped through the door and is gone, off on his journey with that flighty temptress adventure.


	12. Stepping on Fragments of Broken Hearts

**Stepping on the Fragments of Broken Hearts**

I have never realised how many colours the sea may be on any given day and at any given time until now. On a clear blue day it is impossible to distinguish both sea and sky for they are matching turquoise blues. Stormy days are much the same as shining rain churns the water and sand into grey clouds to match their counterparts up above. My favourite colour of sky is at daybreak and at dusk when Mother Nature paints the horizon with the colours of a tropical fruit bowl that bleeds out across the darkening water.

Today the heavens look as though they could be soft enough to sleep upon. The white wispy clouds dance across its face creating shadows upon the water. I stare out toward the harbour, watching natives in their fishing boats hauling in the days catch. Sailors and other naval officers in their blood red coats lounge about in a bored fashion, fanning themselves with their hats to gain relief from the blazing sun. I sweep the docks with my eyes, looking for one ship in particular, and as always it is not there.

I have grown used to not seeing it, and the bitter disappointment that I had felt to begin with has sunk into a melancholic state of indifference from which I cannot seem to pull myself out of. I scratch the days _he_ has been gone onto a piece of parchment I have tucked away in a desk drawer. Every tick mark feels like an eternity in my small sphere of existence.

I often wonder in the hours I spend sitting here, watching and waiting, whether he does the same. Does he sit in his cabin on some God-forsaken ship and think about me? Does he long for me as much as I long for him? It has been a year now, and fear has crept into my heart despite my efforts to keep it at bay. I push down the thoughts that weigh as heavy as sin on my mind – Does he still love me? Has he found another woman? Is he still alive?

I find myself waiting for mail deliveries no matter how few and far between they are. Each folded piece of parchment could deliver me from the living hell I have placed myself into. Not one piece has ever been for me. I have become used to disappointment as I said before, and it still burns just as much as the first day and the next day, and the next day, and the next day . . .

I admit that the monotony of life has caused me to consider many things, things that I am ashamed to having even thought about, for they are the coward's way. The idea of running away still holds appeal for me even after all the time I have spent convincing myself that it would not solve any of the problems at hand. Father would worry endlessly, James would follow me in an attempt to play the hero as usual, and in the end I would have unhappiness either way. After being in a box for so long the idea still tickles my fancy every once in a while, and so I keep it folded neatly in the back of my mind.

I come down for meals only, and I have not been under the hot sun for many, many months. Charlotte likens me to Rapunzel in her tower, but I only have the heart to retort that so far, my story does not have a happy ending. Speaking of Charlotte, she sits with me some days for hours at a time employing herself by different means. Sometimes I think Father asks her to do it because he is afraid I will become lonely or I will do harm against myself. He has no need to fear the latter.

On one day, she might come in and attempt to coax me with a trip down to the fort to see the exotics that have been brought in. There is a new excuse every time. I'm not feeling well. I don't have any money to spare. It's too hot. She doesn't believe me of course. Charlotte isn't daft, and so she generally shuts the door and leaves me to my brooding once again.

Another day, James Norrington came to visit.

"_Miss Swann? May I come in?"_

_I do not move from my place as he enters the room situating himself upon one of my lounge chairs, his back ramrod straight and his hat in his hands. With some air of defiance I keep my face toward the window and my eyes on the harbour down below. His booted feet scuffle against the carpeting to fill the silence. A fly or a mosquito buzzes above our heads, an annoying constant in the stifling heat of the room._

_James moves suddenly to stand beside my chair. He places a hand gently underneath my chin and turns my head to meet his gaze. I stare at him coldly, a harsh frown gracing my lips. A single line of concern or worry mars his otherwise smooth forehead as he searches my eyes._

"_Why do you do this to yourself?" he asks quietly. "Please speak to me. Help me to understand. Maybe I can help you."_

_I wrench my chin from his grasp viciously and turn my head away, back toward the harbour. His overbearing form continues to stand next to me. His calm breathing echoes in my ears between the rushes of blood through my veins. I do not wish to speak to him. Surely he must understand that there is little to say between us now. Surely there is no need for me to state aloud what is always on the tip of my tongue when he or my father is around._

"_You're so young," James says, making his attempt at conversation again, "You're throwing your life away."_

_I purse my lips and strain not to scream at him; to scream at the top of my lungs that I love William Turner, not him, and I can damn well throw away my life waiting for him if I want to. I do not yell though, but sit impassively as always, tears boiling underneath the surface. Suddenly, James' face is quite near to mine, and before I know what's happening his lips, cold as stone, are pressed against my cheek. It is a swift and fleeting kiss, hardly a brushing of skin on skin, but the contact makes me tremble from head to foot._

_He places a gentle hand on my shoulder, and I can see a wane smile pulling at the corners of his lips, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. _

"_Whatever happened to the rambunctious little Lizzy who was always asking questions and going on adventures? She must be hidden in there somewhere," he says this not in jest, but with the intent of lightening the mood somehow._

_Instead, the precarious control within me snaps and I double over, sobbing into my hands. James kneels by my side, whipping out a handkerchief. I push his hand away as he offers it and cry all the harder, the light kohl around my eyes running in dark rivulets down my cheeks._

"_Go away," I choke out, blocking my face from James' view, "Please, just leave me alone!"_

_Through my tears I watch, as he stands up, bewildered, his face contorted in grief. In his eyes it is as though I can see his heart breaking right in front of me. He stumbles from the room in a trance, and still my sobbing does not cease. For some hours I sit trembling and crying until my throat feels raw and my stomach clenches with each heaving breath._

James' does not visit again for several months, and even then he talks to my father only. This has been the longest year of my entire life.

Charlotte comes to speak with me on this bright day when the sun looks like an orange in the sky. She shuts the door behind her quietly and sits down in the chair behind me. Silence.

"Miss Swann, look at me."

I do nothing but continue to sit passively with my back to her. Her hand is firmly planted on my shoulder.

"Elizabeth, look at me, please."

I turn to her, my eyes red-rimmed and puffy, "Go away, Charlotte," I snap.

Charlotte's face hardens, and she draws her hand from my shoulder before slapping my cheek with a force I did not know she had. My head reels from the blow, and I put my hand to my stinging cheek. Charlotte, one of the very best friends I have ever had, stares at her hand in horror, and then puts her head in her hands and cries softly, her shoulders shaking up and down with each sob.

My cheeks burn with shame and disappointment and unhappiness as tears well up in my eyes. I kneel down then and pull Charlotte into my arms, my own tears mingling with hers as I cry into her shoulder. When there doesn't seem to be any more tears left to cry, and our sobs have dwindled into hiccups and sniffles I find the voice to ask, "Oh Charlotte, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. How did things become this way?"

She shakes her head sadly. "I don't know, Elizabeth, I don't know."

It seems as if we cannot be sure of anything anymore.

**Authoress' Note: ** My favourite vignette so far hands down. It's not positive Norribeth, but it's Norribeth nonetheless. By the way, don't get under the impression that things are going to get much better. At the beginning of ASOF James and Elizabeth are completely at odds with one another. Somehow I've got to start setting up that alienation between them. Keep on reviewing, it only takes a few minutes!


	13. Stepping Off the Path

**Authoress' Note: **Just a warning, this story is definitely going to be finished within the next week or so. I've only got 3 or so vignettes planned after this one, so please prepare yourself for a final farewell. I know I said I wouldn't be writing anymore Norribeth after ASOF, but this is for real. I feel like I've finally told all I can tell, and the rest is up to your imaginations. :) Keep on reviewing!

**Stepping Off the Path**

I untie the knot of ribbon under my chin and hang my hat on one of the many hooks in the entrance hall. Charlotte follows suit with her own hat. Life has taken on a different kind of monotony now. Everyday Charlotte and I visit the docks before doing the shopping in the market.

There is an unspoken agreement between us that we will not discuss what happened that day in my room. Suffice it to say, I finally realised how much I had been hurting those around me as well as myself.

Since then my dear Charlotte has vied to keep me busy every moment of the day. It has become a welcome relief not to have to think and to be able to lay my head down at night and instantly fall asleep without worrying about what Will could be up to. In fact, though I miss him, I have not thought about him for more than a minute or two in months.

"Would you like to help me out in the garden, Miss?" she asks, "There's all sorts of new things sprouting up, and you know I can't bend down like I used to."

I give her a raised eyebrow that's meant in good sport, "Charlotte, you're hardly that old. I'm only 19, so that should make you 30, wouldn't it?"

"31, dear," she replies good-naturedly, "We'll see just how old you feel when you're 31, eh?"

She winks at me, and I understand that really all she wants is my company, and I am grateful to her for it. Suddenly, Papa sticks his head out of his study.

"I thought I heard your lovely voice, Elizabeth," he says, "James Norrington has just been to see me. In fact, he's still here right now, and there's something he would like to discuss with you."

I glance at Charlotte, and she shrugs. Puzzled, I enter the study, shutting the door behind me. Papa settles himself at his desk and begins writing away at some official looking document. I weave slowly through the furniture and come to a stop before him. Clasping my hands in front of me, I wait. So far I have avoided looking in James' general direction, but I cannot ignore the fact that he is standing directly next to me.

I steal a glance at him only to find him looking at me, his expression unreadable. I purse my lips and look away, back toward Papa who finishes his writing with a flourish of a signature. Quickly, he folds it up, stamps it with a wax seal, and sets it aside. It certainly couldn't be anything urgent if he's making us wait this long, I conclude. He folds his hands upon his desk; a stance I have only seen him take if business is the order of the day.

"You are 19 years old now, Elizabeth," he says turning his attention on me, "Soon to be 20. Am I correct?"

"Yes, Papa."

"I must admit to both myself and to you that I have put off something that most young women your age have already attained. That is to say, we have yet to find a suitable husband for you."

My throat tightens and I feel as though my stomach has completely dropped away. Next to me James' fidgets with the buttons on the front of his coat nervously. I keep my mouth shut as Father continues.

"I realise that you have had past . . . connections with William Turner, and if he were here and had gone about the proper way of asking for your hand I am certain I would have considered it. However, as he is gone, I am pleased to take the next, and best, offer. Captain James Norrington has asked for your hand in marriage, Elizabeth, and I have given him my blessing only so long as you agree to it and are happy."

I swallow and close my eyes for a moment praying that the sudden nausea I feel will pass. The grandfather clock in the corner ticks loudly, echoing in my ears. When it does I open my eyes again to find Father watching me with a concerned look on his face. I sit down then, fearing that I shall faint. My mind is in a whirl of confliction and emotion, and I am finding it hard to put anything into words. I open my mouth once, close it, and then open it again.

"I am . . . most flattered by Captain Norrington's proposal," I say slowly and carefully, as though he is not standing right next to me, "But I must plead that he ask again at another time. I am not ready for such a commitment, and I . . ."

There is nothing left to say, and I stop abruptly and watch my father again. He frowns slightly at his desk and glances up at James. Splaying his hands on his desk, he looks at me again.

"What you mean to say is," he says evenly, "You would not be happy to be married at this time."

_Not exactly._

"Yes," I say, letting out my breath in a way that I hope will pass as a sigh of relief.

"That's all right then. You are my only daughter Elizabeth, and I would much rather see you married and settled happily or not at all."

I nod, and stand up again, wishing to be anywhere but in this room having this conversation. Suddenly, the horror of rejecting James in such a quick way with him standing right next to me causes my stomach to clench. Fearing I will be sick, I stand up hastily.

"I'm afraid I don't feel very well, Papa. May I be excused?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I'll have Betsy bring you some tea."

I rush from the room and slide down against the wall outside. Breathing deeply through my nose, I close my eyes, pushing back tears. The coolness of the floor against my palms is more soothing than any cup of tea could ever be. Standing up unsteadily, I grip the doorframe for support only to hear Father's voice waft through the open door.

"I'm sure you understand, James," Father says absently, and I can hear the shuffling of papers on his desk. "No hard feelings."

Somehow, I don't believe that there are no hard feelings considering one very well known fact: Captain James Norrington has fallen utterly and completely in love with me.


	14. A Circle of Steps

**Authoress' Note: **So follows the infamous scene from CotBP, possibly one of my most favourite in the entire movie trilogy. I can't help loving James' awkwardness and complete ignorance of Elizabeth's situation. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, by the way! I thank you especially for your feedback on the bit about "no hard feelings". Perhaps "no harm done" would've been more appropriate. I have no excuse for letting something like that slip. Keep your helpful comments coming!

**A Circle of Steps**

This morning feels quite akin to my 18th birthday slightly over two years ago now. My bedroom is stifling hot, and I throw the covers off of me in an attempt to become cooler. Rays of sunlight peek through the heavy curtains hanging in front of the two windows in the room, and I cannot seem to find the strength to get up and open them. There is something important happening today, and I cannot remember what it is for the life of me.

Squeezing my eyes shut I search back into my memory for some recollection of the importance of this day. A knock on the door shatters my thinking, and I launch myself from the bed searching for my favourite dressing gown that always seems to go missing. I kneel down on the floor and peer under the bed as the knocking becomes more insistent.

"Elizabeth? Are you alright?" Father calls.

Aha! I've found the missing dressing gown. Standing up, breathless, I pull it on just in time as Papa pushes on the door handle.

"I'm coming in. I hope you're decent."

"Yes, yes," I cry, tying the knot as quickly as I can and smoothing it down. "Really, Father, you must give me more warning."

"I think I gave you warning enough by rapping on the door for several minutes," he says stepping into the room. A servant girl who I do not recognise follows suit. "And you're still abed at this hour? You shall sleep away the day if you're not careful, my dear."

The young girl goes about opening the curtains one by one. I squint against the harsh sunlight as Father drones on, "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

I nod, "Yes, quite beautiful. If only the sun weren't so bright it would be perfect."

Father chuckles to himself as he turns to greet Charlotte who has appeared in the doorway carrying a box.

"Ah, Charlotte, here you are," he says, gesturing for her to enter the room, "Elizabeth, I have a gift for you."

I take the box, already having some idea of what it is, though I am excited nonetheless. It has been quite some time since Papa has bought me anything. I pull the lid away and can't help gasping at seeing such a beautiful piece of work. It is another gown, just as I had expected, though this one is cut in a more modern fashion and includes an article of clothing that I have never seen before.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" I cry, holding it up and completely ignoring the other piece of clothing, which certainly isn't as pretty or stylish. Charlotte takes it up instead and follows me around the dressing screen.

"May I inquire as to the occasion?" I ask, poking my head out from behind the screen to look at my father.

He smiles at me dearly. "Does a father need an occasion to dote upon his daughter?"

I laugh as Charlotte sticks my arms through the new contraption of clothing that I have now discovered serves as some sort of undergarment.

"Actually, I, eh, had rather hoped that you would wear it for the ceremony today."

I peer around the screen again, puzzled. "The ceremony?"

"Captain Norrington's promotion ceremony."

He punctuates each word separately, one eyebrow raised, as though to chide me for not listening to him when he spoke of it many times before. Ducking back around the side of the screen, I groan inwardly. So this is the important occasion I failed to remember earlier. Feigning excitement and surprise I cry, "I knew it!"

Father gives a sound of approval at my enthusiasm. "Commodore Norrington, as he's about to become! He still fancies you, you know. Elizabeth? How's it coming?

I cannot ignore Father's blatant quip about James still loving me. As though I didn't know that already. How many times have I spurned his advances citing that I must have time to make my decision? It has been a while since he last spoke to me outright though, and I am grateful for that.

"It's difficult to say," I manage to get out as Charlotte pulls hard at the strings at my back. For a moment it feels as though she will break one of my ribs. I suck in some air in an attempt to alleviate the painful situation, and the torture contraption somehow manages to become even tighter.

"I'm told it's the latest fashion in London."

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I put a hand to my chest as I struggle to gasp in enough air to speak.

"Well, women in London must've learned not to breathe."

---

It is unbearably hot, my mouth is dry, and I fear that if this corset (as I have learned it is called) is not cut from me soon I believe I shall faint dead away. The promotion ceremony of Commodore James Norrington could not have possibly gone on a moment longer. Though the sun continues to beat down from overhead, at least I am able to move about and feel any slight wind upon my face. Fanning myself, I mingle through the crowd making half-hearted attempts at conversation and wishing that I could be home in bed with a cool glass of water and Charlotte as my only companion.

"May I have a moment?"

I turn to face James Norrington, the last person on earth I would like to speak to, and wordlessly follow him to the platform of the parapet overlooking the sea. Fanning myself hastily, I lean against the stone structure to steady myself. After so much movement I am finding it hard to catch my breath.

James gazes at me for a moment, and I smile back weakly. "You look lovely, Elizabeth."

I fan myself harder, and smile awkwardly, trying to discern whether it is my imagination or if everything around me has actually taken on a certain blurred quality. All I can see clearly is James' face before my own as he speaks.

"I apologise if I seem forward, but I . . . must speak my mind," he continues, placing his hand on his new sword, "This promotion throws into sharp relief that which I have not yet achieved," he looks at me pointedly, and I blink as he slides in and out of focus, "A marriage to a fine woman. You have become a fine woman, Elizabeth."

Everything goes dark for a split second and then James' face swims back into view. He looks at me hopefully, encouragingly, as he gestures into the empty space beside him.

"I know I have no right to hope that your feelings have changed . . ." he says quietly, so that I can barely hear him over the crashing of waves and the rush of blood in my ears. A tingling begins in my fingers and toes, spreading quickly as I gasp for air.

"I can't breathe."

James chuckles lightly, "Yes I'm a bit nervous myself . . ."

I cannot think straight. I breathe in sharply and try to straighten my thoughts for a split second as James rambles onward incoherently. I hone in on one fact, that James Norrington has just asked me a question, and that I must answer. I speak the first word that comes to my mind.

"Yes."

Then all is darkness as I fall upon the parapet in a dead faint.

---

"Elizabeth. Elizabeth?"

Someone presses a cool cloth to my forehead, then lifts my head and pours water down my throat. I splutter as it rushes into my mouth and over mychin. I sit up abruptly, coughing hard. My head immediately splits into a pounding ache, and I rub at my temple to no avail. Charlotte appears before me, her round face kind and unconcerned.

"There now, lie back again, Miss. It'll do no good sitting up just yet."

She gently lowers my head back onto the raised pillow and presses the wet cloth to my cheeks and forehead again. I close my eyes and am somehow blissfully aware of the fact that I have been freed from the vile corset and its air depriving tendencies. I smile to myself at that thought, grateful for the ability to breath the abundance of air around me.

Charlotte bustles back over to me as I open my eyes again, pondering what occurred only hours earlier. I vaguely remember parts of it, but I feel as though I am trying to connect the dots between what I remember and what actually happened. A shadow passes over Charlotte's face as she looks down on me, and I grasp her hand in mine before she can move away again.

"What happened?" I ask, a knot of fear twisting itself in my stomach as I run my thumb over the lines etched into Charlotte's once smooth palm.

She sits down on the edge of my bed placing her free hand over mine and reaching up to stroke some stray hair away from my face as I sit up again, more cautious and this time. She looks down at our entwined hands, and then back up at me. Only then do I know that something horribly wrong has occurred.

"Charlotte what is it? Tell me!"

"Oh Elizabeth, I know how this will upset you, but . . . you accepted the Commodore's proposal today."

I can feel my mouth hanging open in utter shock, but I do not bother to close it. My heart feels as though it is beating in my throat, and quickly I swallow it down once more.

"I did what?"

Charlotte's brows are drawn together in concern, and she does not meet my eyes as she recounts the story of how upon the parapet I accepted the proposal of Commodore James Norrington. She even includes the fact that the news of the proposal spread faster than the news of my subsequent collapse.

"The Commodore carried you to his personal carriage, and he and the Governor made there way up to the house. They're waiting outside now, though I have assured them you will be fine."

"Dear God, what have I done?" I cry, sinking back down into the pillows and pulling the coverlet over my head. Tears spill down my cheeks, and I twist away from Charlotte's hand as she tries to pull the covers back down.

We struggle for a moment as my dearest friend attempts to wrestle them from my grasp while insisting that I shall surely suffocate.

"I don't care," I say harshly, and we fall still. I turn over on my side, facing the wall. "Tell them I'm resting. I don't want to see anyone."

The door opens and shuts loudly, and I am left alone.


	15. Stepping Carefully

**Authoress' Note:** Prepare yourselves for a long and slightly risqué vignette, ladies and gents. Or mostly ladies. :P There is some interesting and angsty stuff going on here, so I hope you enjoy it. This is only a small foretaste of the last chapter; so don't forget to take your emo tablets before reading. Seriously, nothing happy is going on for the rest of this story. In fact, I highly recommend reading ASOF afterward so that you can see our favourite couple finally achieve their happy ending.

**Stepping Carefully**

Charlotte takes another shining silver pin from her mouth and pushes it into the ivory fabric of my wedding gown. She wipes her hands on her skirt, pushes the remaining pins into the embroidered pouf, and stands up to admire her work. I look down at all the lace and ivory and turn to myself in the mirror hardly recognizing the woman I see before me.

Over the past few months my face has become drawn and pale, a fact that seems to have gone unnoticed by everyone but Charlotte who prods me to eat and again keeps me busy every hour of the day. With a week till the wedding I think she is afraid once again that I will do myself harm.

Every day of preparation has been a torture. James Norrington has not failed to visit once a week to be consulted on such petty details as the guest list, the reception menu, and even the colour of my dress, which I thought really wasn't any of his business considering he's going in uniform anyway. It's not as though he's going to match with me in any way.

"You look beautiful, Elizabeth," Charlotte says, placing her hand on my shoulder. I place my hand over hers and smile warmly for her honesty.

"Thank you for your help, Charlotte. I do not know what I would have done without you after all this time."

Charlotte shakes her head and looks away, tears in her eyes. "That's all right, love. That's what I'm here for, isn't it?"

A knock sounds on the door, and Charlotte quickly steps away from me as she wipes the tears from her eyes. I look toward the door as it opens, and Father sticks his head in. He looks taken aback for a moment as he takes in the vision of ivory and lace his daughter has become. Then he smiles proudly.

"You look just like your mother, my dear," he says, and now I can feel the tears pressing at the backs of my eyes as a lump forms at the base of my throat. "But, you'd better get changed. The Commodore is waiting here with me to see you."

He shuts the door, and Charlotte moves toward me again helping me unlace the dress from the back and slip it off without knocking any of the pins out. I pull a much simpler gown over my head and allow Charlotte to lace up the back. When she is finished, she folds up the wedding dress carefully, drapes it across her arm, and slips through the door.

I follow Charlotte out of the room, my mind preoccupied and my eyes cast to the floor. James catches me by the arms before I can run straight into him. Startled, I step back out of his grasp and take in the sight standing before me. Never before have I seen James look so . . . casual. His usual tight-laced uniform and wig has been put away, and in its place is a much more relaxed version of my fiancé.

He is wearing a simple white long sleeved shirt tucked into gold-brown trousers, which are in turn tucked into shining black knee high riding boots. His hair is cropped short in order to hide it beneath his wig. I fight down the urge to run my hand over its bristles that look so out of place on his head. He smiles easily at me.

"Good afternoon, Elizabeth. Surprised to see me?" he asks jovially.

I frown slightly and raise one eyebrow, looking him up and down critically. "Considering we've only a week before the wedding, I admit, I am surprised. I had not expected to see you till the day of."

James' smile falters for a moment. His eyes fall on my dress, and he gestures at it with one hand.

"I see you're already dressed," he says.

I look down at the simple loose pinstriped gown with its three-quarter length sleeves and dipping oval neckline into which a kerchief has been tucked for modesty's sake.

"Dressed for what?" I inquire, looking back up at James, who seems to think that I am able to guess his every whim.

"Ah, I thought your father told you," James says, and now I can see that this is not at all going according to his plans, "He told me that there was nothing else going on today that would require your immediate attention, and assured me that you would be willing to accompany on a tour of my, I mean, our estate."

I try to hide a grimace as I pick at a loose thread on the front of my gown while trying to think of a possible way out of the situation without being completely rude. Resigning myself to the fact that somehow my hands have been tied behind my back once more I nod reluctantly, and James beams.

"I'll give you a moment to put on your riding boots while I ready the horses," he says, "I thought it best to forgo propriety for once for the sake of a bit of fun."

I smile tightly and quickly slip back into my room. Sitting on the edge of my bed I yank on each riding boot and tie them up as slowly as I can. When I am finished, I take down my hair from the fitting earlier and braid it loosely, fashioning it in a loose bun at the nape of my neck. Glancing down onto the front drive, I see James is already astride his brown mare waiting for me.

Joining him atop a white mare only minutes later, we start off down the hill and away from the mansion. From there, instead of turning toward the centre of town we take a right toward more open countryside decked by jungle and foliage on both sides. In the open I take the chance to gallop ahead allowing myself to close my eyes and forget for a moment that Will is a world away from me while James becomes ever closer. Throwing my head back, I loose my hair from its coil and revel in the feeling of the wind whipping through my curls. James catches up only moments later, and a few minutes tick by in which I am painfully aware that our silences are not as easy as the ones we once held when we were younger. This silence stretches thin between us like butter over too much bread.

A footman takes our horses from us at the front of a handsome manor house set high over Port Royal. I can hear the sounds of the sea not too far away and wonder how easy it will be for me to escape there from time to time. Betsy, as James calls a robust young woman with a kindly smile, opens the door and ushers us inside. Folding her hands in front of her she looks on me as though I were some novelty item in a shop.

"She's just downright lovely, Sir," she exudes excitedly, and I blush under her undeserved praise.

James smiles and wraps an arm gently around my waist.

"I think we'll tour the house and the grounds before tea, Betsy. Don't worry about getting it all set out till then."

Betsy's eyes crinkle as her smile widens, and she bustles off in the direction of what I assume to be the kitchens. James turns to me then as I discreetly slip from his grasp. He leads me into the sitting room where a fire is burning in the hearth. The room is stifling, though beautifully furnished. James nods at a few feminine touches through out the room, including flower-embroidered cushions, lace curtains, and elegant arranged vases.

"I had most of this bought just recently," he says, glancing at me as I take it all in, "I thought it might make you feel more comfortable."

I am unsure of what to say and so remain silent much to James' obvious dismay. In truth, I am in awe of how much effort he has put into making me feel welcome in a home that I will otherwise be unhappy in. Together we move into the dining room which houses a table set for half a dozen rather than two. I gaze uneasily at it, unsure of what the implication behind the number could be. Perhaps sensing my discomfort James assures me.

"I had intended to get a much smaller table, but this was all that was available. I suppose we'll just have to have several supper parties to make use of it."

He shrugs, and I sigh with relief. We cross the same entryway to which we entered and make our way upstairs. Upon the landing I look down each corridor taking in the dozens of doors as far as the eye can see. James takes the lead, walks halfway down the corridor to the right and pushes open a door on the left toward the front of the house. He holds it open for me as I slip inside.

The room, obviously once unused, has been filled with cherry wood furniture decked in the palest shades of yellow and pink and green. A large bed, much too big for one person, takes up most of the room, although a vanity against the wall makes it obvious that this is to be my personal room.

"This used to be a storage room of sorts, but I thought you might like your own personal space. The view of the gardens is one of the best from this room."

I nod and afford the beautiful room one compliment. "It's lovely, James. I'm sure I shall enjoy it immensely."

We walk down back down the corridor then, toward the left side of the house and into another room. It is another bedroom, but this one looks as though it has seen much more use. A bureau has been left hanging open, and the floor is littered with parchment, teacups, and broken quills. Even the bed is not made, though James does not seem at all embarrassed by this fact.

"This is my room, or was my room. You don't have to share it with me, except for the one night of course."

James swallows hard, and I blush, not wishing to dwell on our wedding night if I can help it. I can only hope that the room will at least be clean to some extent. It is the most I can hope for on such a night. I stare at the bed imagining myself in it and shudder. James' hand touches my arm.

"Would you like to see some of the grounds now?" he asks, "There's plenty of jungle and forest around to explore. We won't go too far, but I'd love to show it to you."

I follow obediently behind him, happy to leave the oppressiveness of the house and the bedroom. We walk out of a set of double French doors at the side of the house, pass by a rather sad looking garden, and set off into the foliage. It isn't a hard walk since the trees and shrubs haven't grown up too thickly, but there are several parts where James must help me over fallen trees and tangled vines. We finally come to a rest deep within the jungle, out of sight of the house, where we are able to sit down with our backs against a giant tree's trunk.

"James, are you afraid I'm going to get cold feet?" I ask, and he looks at me, startled.

"Cold feet?" he repeats, and then nods uneasily. I look down at my clasped hands in my lap. "I suppose it has crossed my mind in the last few months."

"Is that why you brought me to see the house?" I ask, quietly, and I can feel him stiffen beside me, "To make the marriage seem like it won't be so bad."

James shifts uncomfortably next to me, but he nods again guiltily. "I just want you to be happy, Elizabeth. I would not see you hurt in any way."

"If you want me to be happy then why am I here?" I ask, tears in my eyes again. "You know I don't love you. How can you resign yourself to such a life?"

I stand up suddenly as my chest tightens and tears burn at the backs of my eyes. There is something building within me now as I pace the clearing with James looking on helplessly; it is the fanatical feeling of being trapped, like an animal pushed into a corner. A sudden rush of energy causes the urge to lash out to rise within me. I continue my rapid pacing, fearful that if I should stop I will lunge on him. James follows my every movement with his eyes, and I turn on him, whip like, my face instantly calm, but my voice no more than a trembling whisper; a shaking leaf on a branch.

"What is it you want from me? "

James is standing up now, backing away slightly as I fill the space between us. I trap him against the tree, pressing myself against him, my breath hot and shallow against his face. James stares at me, wide eyed, his heart beating hard against my own. I press my lips against the corner of his mouth, my eyes never leaving his as the salt of tears fills my mouth. I place James' hand on my waist and around toward the lacings at my back. The first falls away before he realises what is going on.

"Is this what you want?" I whisper, the back of the gown nearly undone and slowly slipping from my shoulders. James closes his eyes and stumbles backward away from me, his hand outstretched and groping. He sits down hard on a tree stump, and covers his face with his hands leaving me to hold my dress up with one hand.

"Don't tempt me, Elizabeth," he whispers, and I freeze at the sound of his voice. It is weak, vulnerable. He cradles his head in his hands for several minutes before looking up at me again as I sway on the spot, tears flowing freely down my face. He stands up then, reaching his hand into his trouser pocket, and takes out a handkerchief, which he hands to me.

I take it and mop my face bitterly as James stands and moves around me to gingerly lace up my dress once again. I shiver as his fingers brush against my bare skin, and when he is finished, he takes a step away from me, watching me sadly and silently.

"What do you want from me?" I ask again, truly wanting to know his answer.

"Your love, Elizabeth. I want your love," he says wearily, and there is sadness in his eyes that I have never seen before.

I reply weakly and tearfully, my hands balled into fists by my sides and anger in my voice.

"Well you won't get it. All I have to give is this," I gesture down at my body, "I hope that will be enough for you."

James turns away without another word and walks some ways off back toward the house. I can still see him between the trees waiting for me, but I do not follow immediately. Instead, I lower myself to the ground, wrapping my arms about my knees, and sob into them not because I almost gave away the only part of myself I have left, but because James did not take it.


	16. All the Steps of Life's Journey

**All the Steps of Life's Journey Have Led to This**

_What have I done?_ The past few months of wedding preparations replay themselves in my head. Over and over again I ask myself why I did not put a stop to it all in the forest that day only a short week ago. Have I really lost that much hope in seeing William again? The very thought makes me more sick to my stomach than when I woke up after my fall on the parapet to learn that I had finally accepted James Norrington's proposal.

This is the first time in months that I have thought of William Turner extensively, or rather, that I have allowed myself to think of him. There was no point of dwelling anymore on what could have been when I knew in my heart of hearts that I would be another man's wife and not his. All my hopes were irreparably dashed in the instant in which I accepted James.

I finger the delicate ivory silk fabric and gold threading that lines my wedding gown. Charlotte had laid it out earlier before retiring to bed, and now I am left alone. Tomorrow I will walk up the aisle, take James' hand in mine, and pronounce myself to be his wife till death do us part. The very idea sets me to shivering, and I leave the dress, and curl up on my bed, a bed that I will never sleep in again.

For a moment I wonder what James could be doing at this very moment. Is he lying awake in bed just as I am? I let the tears fall, not for the first time in the last few months and cover my face with my hands. _Oh Will, forgive me for what I have done. I love you even more than I thought possible since I know now that you will be parted from me forever._ I look down at the ring upon my finger, and then I wrench it off with disgust and dash it across the room where it skids to a stop under a chair.

Hours later when the house is silent and the moon has fully risen my tears cease, and fresh sobs have turned into sighs of pain and unhappiness. I wipe my eyes with my thumb and sit up with my back against the wall hugging my knees to my chest. The darkness and gloom of the night creeps through the room, spilling over into my thoughts. Ideas I have contemplated before, years before when I pined for William alone in my room rise unbidden in my mind. To hold a knife and bring it to my chest . . . It would only hurt for a moment. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands until they bleed crescent moons of crimson to shake myself from this reverie.

A woman's wedding is supposed to be a joyous affair, and the wedding night an experience no woman ever forgets. Charlotte assured me earlier that it was all right to be nervous, but I am not nervous anymore. I am frightened. James Norrington is not the man I had expected to give myself to, to have and to hold, to love and cherish. I am not at all sure what I am to expect tomorrow night, and I wish more than any time in my life that my mother were here to hold me, to tell me that everything will be all right. I allow myself to dwell then on the same misery she must have felt at the thought of marrying a man she hardly knew. It is a terrifying prospect to jump into that abyss alone.

All the mistakes I have made seem to have culminated in this night. From the moment I met James on our crossing from England I do not see how I could not have saw ahead to this day. Were the furtive looks and gentle attention paid to me not obvious enough? My mind races through the first 20 years of my life, all the joys and the pitfalls together. I fall asleep then my hands clasped together in prayer in the hope that someone will hear me up above and send me some mercy tomorrow night.

---

"Oh, Elizabeth, you look stunning," Charlottes exudes, tears brightening her eyes. She lowers the delicate veil over my face, and I am grateful since tears have begun to well in my eyes as well. Charlotte presses my shaking hands to her lips, and though she is smiling I can see the sadness in her eyes.

"Do not cry for me, Charlotte," I whisper, resting my forehead against hers, "You are my sister in every respect, and I won't have you cry over me on my wedding day. I will be happy one day. You will see."

She nods at my transparently empty words though the tears continue to fall down her cheeks and from the bridge of her nose. She wipes at them half-heartedly and gives my hand one final squeeze as the music begins to play from the other side of the door. I try to pull my hands gently from her grasp, but Charlotte holds tightly.

"Listen to me for only a moment longer," she says, and my attention focuses solely on her, "You may not love the Commodore, but you must know that he loves you more than life itself. Do not throw that away. The knowledge of it may save your life together yet."

The last part of her sentence seems to boom loudly in my ears though the music from the organ blares forth as the doors swing open. Charlotte releases my hands and pushes a bouquet of flowers into them. I grasp them tightly to stop my trembling as my eyes fall on James beaming from his place next to the priest. Father appears from the left and offers forth his arm. I take a deep breath and take the first step over the threshold and into my new life.

**Authoress' Note: **So, this is the end of the Norribeth saga as all of you have come to know it. I have immensely enjoyed writing both this story and the original, A Series of Firsts. This is one of the first times I have written something in which I have become so emotionally and personally invested in the characters that I'm not sure whether I can ever stop writing about them. So yes, don't expect this to be the end of Norribeth. This is the end of this particular love story, but it is not the end for the characters. Already I have another idea brewing in my mind for an entirely different story featuring our favourite couple. I'm not sure when I'll be able to get a first chapter up for that since I am determined to finish the Star Trek fic I've been working on before I start anything else, so be on the look out. I assure you that you will not be disappointed. I would like to end this by thanking everyone who has taken the time to review both ASOF and ASOS. This is the most feedback I have ever received for any of my writing, and it's all thanks to those of you have invested yourselves into this story. Thank you for believing in my writing. :D Now go read ASOF again so that you don't have to keep wallowing in the misery of this story.


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